Samson, Bo and me in Savannah

humor

Personality counts. Especially in certain cases, like when you’re getting an ultrasound or another diagnostic test that may be cause for worry or concern. The technician who performed some tests on me yesterday had almost zero personality. She led me or rather shuffled to the exam room with me trailing behind. She opened the door and pointed to a paper “gown” that I was to put on. It wasn’t a really gown, but rather a sheet made of paper towel material.

She said, “Is that a dress?

“Yes,” I said.

“Take the dress and your bra off and put the gown on so it’s open in front.”

“Okay,” I said.

When she saw I was undressed with the giant paper towel wrapped around me, she said, “Lay on the table.”

A remake of “Lost in Love” by Air Supply was playing on her CD player / radio. One of my favorite love songs when I was a college freshman.

It seemed incongruous with the proceedings.

The technician begrudgingly pulled out the lower part of the examination table so my calves would not be dangling off the bottom. The table squeaked when she jerked it down, and it was still too short for me. I’m only 5’6″. How must it be for really tall people?

“I’m going to do the echo cardiogram first,” she said. “Lay on your side.”

“Okay,” I said.

She slathered gel on my chest and starting moving the wand over my flesh.

I felt like a canned ham covered in jelly.

“Now lay on your back,” she said.

The next song that came on the CD player/radio was another remake of an easy listening song.

After ten or fifteen minutes she said, “Now I am going to do the other test.”

“Okay.”

When it was done, she said, sans expression, “You can get dressed now.”

She didn’t offer me any paper towels to wipe off the goop, so I grabbed a few I found near the sink and used the paper towel “gown” to wipe off the rest.

“When will I get the results?” I asked.

“You can go to the front desk, and they will tell you.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t turn around to convey the information to me.

As I said, personality does count. But as long as she’s good at what she does, I guess it doesn’t matter all that much.

Everything happens for a reason. (you deserve to be shot for this one)

You’re lucky to be alive (post-accident).

God must have a special plan for you.

What are you doing for fun?

Do you feel better now? (after several months have passed)

Have you thought about going to church?

He (deceased) would like you to do that (fill in the blank).

Maybe you need a makeover.

I know it’s hard to think of things to say to a widow or widower, and I don’t blame anyone for feeling inept. I know most people do their best not to stay stupid and inappropriate things. But platitudes and suggestions for rejuvenating one’s relationship with their Maker (whomever that might be) are generally unwelcome. Keep in mind that I am a lapsed Catholic, so I do have a religious background and spiritual inclination.

This is the caption below the gleaming white bowl of Skittles with the Trump/Pence logo: “If I had a bowl of skittles and I told you just three would kill you. Would you take a handful? That’s our Syrian refugee problem.”

Hmm. White bowl, colored Skittles. This could also be seen as racist, could it not? Like the white ruling class holding the non-white people in a bowl (earth?) and controlling them. Alas, I do digress.

The white color could symbolize purity and innocence and the candies inside, the unknown or the impure? Perhaps it is a cautionary tale for trick-or-treaters. After all, Halloween is fast upon us. Should we withhold mini bags of Skittles gathered by our jubilant children at All Hallows’ Eve, for fear they may be in possession of a tainted one? So many questions.

A couple weeks ago I lost my mother’s necklace. The week before, two pairs of earrings and a necklace of my own. Back in June, I lost two pairs of pants while cleaning out the closet in preparation for our “house viewing” by prospective buyers.

Today I couldn’t open the gym locker after my workout, even though I always use the same combination. I had to get the Facilities guy to unlock it for me. Luckily, it is one of those “modern” locks and can be opened with a master key. So I sat in the locker room waiting, my office attire held hostage.

I didn’t feel like going back to my desk in brown yoga pants and a blue T-shirt, so I had time for contemplation.

Contemplating my manic state, and how I could get locked out of something as benign as a gym locker.

Contemplating the absurd, the trivial, and what got me to this place. Yes, to this locker room, separated from my work uniform, my daily armor.

Isn’t that what we do every day when we leave the sanctity and security of our homes? Suit up for battle? Hope for the best and anticipate the worst. Weather the elements and brave the municipal transportation system. And at the end of the day, hope to make it home in one piece.

1. Family stencils / decals on the back of cars, or what my husband Lorin calls “the serial killer’s menu.”

(google)

2. People who ride Citi Bikes (New York thing) on the sidewalk. It’s both rude and dangerous. Oh, and don’t get me started on the ones who go through red lights and ride on the wrong side of the road.

3. People who race through Shoprite as if their carts are on fire. It’s kind of weird and also dangerous: you could hit a little kid or old lady that way!

(photo by me)

4. Why cashiers at Duane Reade say, “the following guest” or simply “the following”? I never feel like I’m a guest at Duane Reade. Are we at a party or a pharmacy?

5. Why we can’t pump our own gas in New Jersey. NJ folks text, apply makeup, give themselves bikini waxes, eat entire meals, read newspapers and talk on the phone in their cars, but we’re not allowed to pump our own gas. Some of us don’t mind a bit: bumper stickers and T-shirts abound proclaiming:

6. Why Governor Christie is still in office. The New York Times aired the latest dirty laundry: giving his pal Donald Trump a major break on taxes for the Taj Mahal Casino. No wonder the Garden State can’t afford decent lighting on the roadways and pothole repair.

7. Why people don’t like Sphynx cats. Come on, look at this puss.

8. Short people on the NJ Transit bus who lean their seats all the way back so the person behind them gets their legs crushed. Is it a Napoleon complex? By the way, it’s generally smaller women who do this. Same goes for people on airplanes. It’s rude!

9. People with “glass head syndrome.” Those are the co-workers who are friendly to you one day and the next look through you as if your head was made of glass and you don’t exist.

10. Cookie dough ice cream. Both cookie dough and the ice cream of the same name make me sick to my stomach, and I love baking.

Hoarding. An issue many of us have personal experience with or know of through reality TV shows like Hoarders or Confessions: Animal Hoarders.

Books have been written and films have been made about famous hoarders like Homer and Langley Collyer and Long Island socialites Edith Bouvier Beale (“Little Edie”) and her mother Edith Ewing Bouvier (“Big Edie”) .

He might not be rich or famous, but Bernie the Cat may have succumbed to their ranks as well. He is neither a compulsive shopper (so we have not gone bankrupt, thank goodness), nor does he save reams of old newspapers and other paraphernalia, but does like things.

At first we noticed the shoes. He would lay his head on my sneakers or put his nose inside them, often falling asleep this way.

Then it was my purse and duffel bag.

Next came the red blanket, which he talks to and drags around the floor in his teeth and kneads with his claws.

Once I found his scratch mat, toy alligator and toy bird wrapped inside the blanket as he was dragging it. Alarming!

Last week we found him laying on Lorin’s computer apparatus and extension cords in the basement, seemingly taking possession of them.

He likes to build a fort consisting of my purse, duffel bag and the red blanket. He is not happy when one of his objects is taken away.

Is it time for an intervention?

Hopefully, with love, support and patience, we will get through this as a family, and not have to seek professional help.

Just when you thought things couldn’t get any stranger, along comes Pinot Meow–a non-alcoholic, catnip-based wine for cats. The other variety is MoscCATo. Both were created by cat lover Brandon Zavala of Apollo Peak in Denver, Colorado. I heard about this while watching an episode of Real Time with Bill Maher yesterday.

Zavala says, “I originally thought of the idea as a joke with some friends and I just slapped a label of this ‘Pinot Meow’ onto a wine bottle and from that got the idea to actually start something for cats.”

The feline elixir which hit the markets in November 2015 has become an international sensation, and Zavala promises a canine variety will be available in the near future.

On July 30, The Denver Post reported that Donald Trump and members of his Secret Service were stuck in a stalled elevator between the first and second floors at The Mining Exchange, a luxury hotel and resort, in Colorado Springs. Luckily, the Fire Department came to the rescue. Thank goodness!

Trump was none too happy with the fire marshal for restricting the number of people attending his rally in Colorado. Never the shrinking violet, he let his feelings be known:

“This is why our country doesn’t work,” Trump said as he slammed the Colorado Springs fire marshal during the rally, moments after the department’s firefighters rescued him. The paper reported that Trump said the fire marshal “didn’t know what he was doing and ‘was probably a Democrat.’ “

Yes, that makes perfect sense. Our country doesn’t work because of incompetent fire marshals who rescue people from elevators, and of course, being a Democrat also lessens the probability that he had the requisite skills to perform his duties.

I’m surprised Trump didn’t blame President Obama or Hillary Clinton for the elevator debacle, Perhaps it will go down in history as “Elevatorgate.”

The idea of a would-be president being trapped in an elevator in the so-called “Mining Exchange” brings to mind the “mineshaft gap” in Dr. Strangelove. I think Mr. Trump might enjoy living in a mine shaft since he’s so enamored with the idea of using nuclear weapons. In his own words, “If we have them, we can’t we use them?”

Trump’s latest attack on Hillary: he called her “the devil.” And, as you all may have heard, he has accused Bernie Sanders of “making a deal with the devil.”

Pot calling the kettle black, anyone?

One could say the same of Chris Christie, who received nada for his loyalty to Trump. Who can forget that priceless photo of him standing seemingly shell-shocked (like he had been abducted or had Stockholm syndrome) behind his self-proclaimed master.

(google image)

I was waiting for Christie to blurt out, “I am Tania,” in the spirit of Patty Hearst.

(google – Patty Hearst)

But who really made a deal with the devil? Could it be the Republican Party, who still endorses Trump in spite of his exceptionally crude, un-presidential behavior? The latest debacle is his maligning the parents of fallen U.S. soldier Humayun Khan, saying, among other things, that Mrs. Khan didn’t speak at the Democratic National Convention because she wasn’t allowed to (being a Muslim woman). Trump went on to say that he had sacrificed a lot for his businesses, after Khizr Khan pronounced, “You have sacrificed nothing. and no one . . . .”

On the subject of sacrifice, an article in today’s New York Times discusses Trump’s multiple deferments from serving in the Vietnam War: four for college, one for bone spurs. Yes, he has sacrificed. Of course, he isn’t the only would-be president to have deferred serving in the military, but he is the only one to attack the family of someone who has served, and paid the ultimate price.

Even Warren Buffett piped in regarding this latest super-gaffe, echoing the words of former Army Chief counsel Joe Welch to Senator Joe McCarthy, “Have you no sense of decency, sir?”

That’s really what it all comes down to: decency.

Be forewarned: Devils come in all shapes, colors and sizes, including orange.